with vagrants and collecting the most nauseating of smells. Finally, with no short amount of grunting, they reached the market. Multicoloured bunting fluttered from stalls. The sights and sounds of animal trappers, food vendors and stallholders enclosed them the deeper they moved inside.
They had barely made it halfway in before Cole began to voice his concerns.
‘This stuff is heavy. What exactly is it?’
‘Some weeks back we knocked over an antiques place up north. Nothing spectacular of course, but plenty to bring in some cash, about four hundred or so. We stashed it away until the heat was off the goods. Now we’re going to sell them.’
‘Where? Do you have a buyer set up?’
‘Nope,’ Jack rearranged his grip. ‘We’ll flog it at this here bazaar.’
‘Just here? Out in the open?’
‘You seem to be questioning me at every turn and I don’t appreciate that.’
Cole stole glances at the storekeepers, the patrons and everybody else within his eye line. Paranoia began to creep in.
‘No offence intended. I’m just thinking that isn’t this quite risky? I mean we’re doing this in broad daylight.’
‘There’s too much going on to focus on little old us. The Bluecoats won’t be a problem. Their eyes will be elsewhere. Let’s go down this alley and check the stock first. I want a bead on what we can sell here.’
They manoeuvred past the people and down into a narrow backstreet, tight and with questionable sewer access judging by the smell. When the noise of the market had softened, a procession of shadows suddenly fell over the pair as the route was cluttered with four people. None of those who interrupted the proceedings seemed to be particularly happy to see the pair. They each wore grimaces, their faces running the gamut from boorish to downright ugly. Backing up was impossible as another man blocked the way they came. This one was decidedly larger, bulbous but easily reaching seven foot in height, blessed with a disfiguring scar down the left side of his face.
Jack tugged on the trunk handle, a slight jerk to encourage Cole to come to a stop. It wasn’t needed.
At the front of the group, a stocky individual stepped forward to speak on their behalf. His attire was a fine attempt at dressing with some class, though his true nature was given away by patches in his woollen trousers and stained tunic. He smiled, revealing the glimmer of a gold tooth. He assessed the silent caution that Jack had now adopted.
‘What’s the problem, Jacky boy? You don’t seem happy to see us.’
These were the people you didn’t want to bump into down an alleyway, dark or otherwise. These were the ones who inhabited bad streets, shady backend bars, all the places that the unfortunate found themselves. Jackdaw immediately sprung into a well-rehearsed display of asserting his presence.
‘Quite the opposite in fact, Derek! I count myself quite fortunate that you’re all still up to, well, whatever you’re doing here. Slouching? Loitering? Always on the up with you Sanders Boys.’
The bravado wasn’t well received. Derek blindly spat a wad of chewing tobacco beside his feet. ‘Still the funny bastard, as ever.’
Naturally eyes went to trunk between the pair, something that Cole quickly stepped in front of to block from view.
‘What’s in the box?’ Derek asked, tilting to see over Cole’s shoulder.
Jack immediately dismissed it with a wave of his free hand. ‘Oh now, this is something you don’t want to be paying mind to. It’s just some old assorted junk. For the scrapheap, nothing more.’
‘Let’s have a look shall we? If it’s, you know, just junk.’
‘What, you’re not the trusting type?’ Jack straightened up.
‘More of the curious variety.’
Jack and Cole failed to move. Cole didn’t want to ignite a situation that was already a tinderbox and Jack kept his nerve impeccably.
Behind them the cracking of knuckles became nauseatingly loud.
‘Oh, Derek, come now, what’s all this?’ Jackdaw asked.
‘You’ve been too bossy as of late, Jack. We need to take the jobs that you leave behind these days, the scraps, and they do not pay well. This time though, this time, we get the payoff. Today, us Sanders Boys get to be the smart ones. You’re all alone, just the two of you. Stupid, ain’t it?’
‘Stupid,’ Jack repeated with a quirk of his brow. ‘For a box of junk?’
‘We both know that’s far from junk.’
The large one grunted from behind, coaxing a turn. He growled at Jackdaw, his lip curtailing unevenly in clear reminiscence of a previous encounter.
‘Still sore about that scar, eh, Brutus?’ Jack showed his teeth with glee. ‘You shouldn’t be. It adds character. Gives you that whole don’t test me look. It’s a good look. It suits you. You’re welcome.’
Cole cleared his throat. ‘So, er … you boys gonna shoot us or something?’
‘They won’t shoot us,’ Jackdaw bragged, ‘they won’t do shit.’
‘Yeah?’ Brutus grunted, letting his anger dominate. He took his revolver into his oversized grip. Given the size of the hand holding it, the weapon was hilariously small. It was a miracle that one of the fat fingers could fit in the trigger guard.
‘That’s the truth of it. You Sanders Boys can pat yourselves on the backs and clink your glasses saying that you got one on ol’ Jacky boy, but we all know that if anything else comes to pass, there’ll be hell delivered to your doors.’
Jack shed the humour from his words. He became sharper, with threatening eyes that burnt with conviction.
‘You think the big man would tolerate it? An insult to me is a message to him. I think you’ll find I’m far more lenient than Donovan has ever been. And he will come for you and brush you from the gutter to the grave without even blinking. You know it. I know it.’
The trunk end smacked the pavement as his fingers released the handle. Cole followed quickly on account of feeling somewhat foolish. They each took a step away from their cargo.
‘So celebrate, boys! You earnt this one. We’ll be going on our merry and you can do … you know. The drinking. Back-slapping. All of that. Until he comes for you.’
Jackdaw went to stride away, encouraging Cole to follow suit with a flick of his eyes. Brutus, however, did not move, doing an excellent job of blocking their escape.
‘Do you know what I heard?’ Derek stated, casually striking up a cigarette. ‘I heard that the famous Jackdaw isn’t so close to the big man any more. You see, someone mentioned that you ended up screwing up a deal months back, some simple drop job. Yeah, quite a penny’s worth of goods it were. It wouldn’t surprise me if the whole thing had been fabricated so that you could sell the drop on your lonesome.’
Jack’s
